


Halo

by orangina



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Death, Emotions, Heavy Angst, M/M, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:50:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangina/pseuds/orangina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Mats has been battling cancer and is given 3 weeks left to live.<br/> </p><p>  <b>warnings:</b> sensitive topic and some mild graphic description. also, Mats doesn't make it in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halo

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for an anon request on tumblr. I changed it a bit from the 5 sentence thing, but I hope you still like it. If not, let me know and I can write another one for you.

The thing about cancer is that it doesn’t discriminate like other diseases do. Mats Hummels was 21 years old, healthy, and on the verge of his football career when he was diagnosed with cancer.

Benedikt had naturally been the first person to notice something, being his almost-boyfriend and all that at the time. Mats had been aching and overly tired for weeks on end. Ordering him to rest and recover only seemed to worsen his fatigue, and then one day when Benedikt went in to bring him a fresh glass of juice, he discovered a lump on Mats’ shoulder.

Two days later, Mats Hummels was no longer Mats Hummels the German footballer, but that footballer with Stage 4 cancer who was dating another footballer.

 

* * *

 

Another thing about cancer is that it makes you feel like crap a lot of the time, but sometimes you feel okay enough to do things that normal people do. That was why even despite the obstacles of illness and routine hospital visits, Mats and Benedikt had a pretty normal relationship. They fought. They made up. They made out. They went out, too.

Mats went through cycles of chemotherapy and radiation. Benedikt went to training and matches, and also chemotherapy and radiation whenever his schedule permitted. Sometimes, Mats came to the matches. When he didn’t, it was either because he was feeling too crappy from the chemo or crappy about what he missing out on and what his life could’ve been. But it was rarely the latter; Mats wasn’t one to pity himself.

Some days, Benedikt would come home and empty vomit from plastic buckets because Mats couldn’t be bothered to make the toilet in his misery. Other days, Benedikt would come home to the Mats he had always known before all of this happened.

Either way, he loved Mats a lot. He really did, and he felt awful for not being there half the time. But Mats understood. He had an enormous network of support so it wasn’t like he was ever left alone. Besides, he wanted Benedikt to play. It made him happy. He was living vicariously through his boyfriend in a way.

Benedikt didn’t think he could love Mats any more than he already did until it was four years later and Mats was given three weeks left to live. Then, he started to love Mats so much that it actually hurt him all over.

 

* * *

 

Mats’ final three weeks occurred during the spring. Benedikt decided that he was going to make them the best three weeks of Mats’ life. No training, no matches, no chemo, no radiation, just a blood transfusion and a couple check ups here and there to keep him comfortable. His hair had even grown back since he’d been receiving radiation lately instead of chemo. That was the nice thing about radiation; it didn’t make his hair fall out. The bad thing about it was that it was a 45 minute drive to the facility every day whereas he could receive chemo at the hospital just 5 minutes away.

For the first of the best three weeks of Mats’ life, Benedikt cleaned the house. He opened all the curtains to let the sunshine in, even if that meant there would be some prying eyes, and he bought a shit ton of all Mats’ favorite cookies and junk food. He even hung Christmas lights up so the house would sparkle at night, never mind the calendar being smack in the middle of April.

One night during the first week, Benedikt made a reservation at a beautiful restaurant overlooking the river. It was the same restaurant at which they’d had their first date. He got dressed up all nice and fancy and so did Mats, who also gelled his hair. The evening was looking to be a bit chilly. Take into consideration the location by the river as well as the illness and Benedikt had ample justification for tossing an extra coat in the back of the car in case Mats got cold.

Benedikt was adjusting his uncooperative bowtie in the mirror when Mats spoke.

“What was that, my love?” Benedikt asked distractedly.

“Benni, I don’t know if I want to go.”

“What?” Benedikt exclaimed.

 _Shit, learn to bite your tongue you fucking idiot_.

He cleared his throat and tried again, making his way to sit next to where Mats sat on the couch. “What is it?”

“I don’t feel very good.” Mats swallowed, preparing himself for the slew of disappointment he knew Benni would try so hard to hide.

Benedikt could only stare at him. Mats looked pale and his eyes washed out. He looked so different from the cheerful, goofy Mats that Benedikt had grown accustomed to the past couple of days.

“I’m sorry. I thought I might feel better in time but I don’t. I just want to sleep, I’m really sorry, Benni…”

Mats shook his head, unable to look at his boyfriend anymore.

Tears filled Benedikt’s eyes. Not because he was mad at Mats, but because he was mad at himself for choosing the night that Mats started to feel bad. Yesterday might’ve been his last chance for a nice dinner.

“It’s okay,” Benedikt managed to say even if he felt like he was being crushed from the inside out and it, whatever ‘it’ was, was literally the furthest thing from being ‘okay’ right now.

“You’re mad at me because I’m dying.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. And it’s okay to feel that way.”

“I am not mad, Mats!” Benedikt yelled, completely contradicting himself by hurling the thing in his hand across the room which happened to be his bowtie. It landed with a soft thump against the wall and fell limply to the hardwood.

“I said it’s okay to be mad. Calm down, please,” Mats returned as if nothing had happened.

Benedikt took a breath and composed himself. “I’m just guilty, I guess. That I get to live and you don’t,” he said.

“And you know what? I’m guilty too because you have to live with what happens and I don’t.”

“I’m going to miss you. It isn’t fair. Fuck, what the fuck am I going to do?” Benedikt moaned, dragging his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. Benni, please, I really don’t feel good…”

Visible chills were running through Mats, and he was rocking back and forth on the couch, clutching his stomach as his face contorted with pain. Benedikt took one look at him. Then he leapt to his feet and screamed: “YOU’RE GOING TO DIE ANYWAY. WHAT ABOUT ME?” after which he stormed off and slammed the door behind him.

Mats lay down across the couch and closed his eyes, willing the pain away. It wasn’t even a pain he could pinpoint. Just a side effect of dying, probably.

Ten minutes later, Benni returned. Three things were different: 1) his outfit was no longer fancy 2) the object in his hand was now a napkin, not a bowtie, and 3) he had obviously been crying a ton.

“Here,” he murmured, sitting on the couch and pulling Mats into his chest. The napkin was damp and cool and it felt good against Mats’ forehead. “What kind of pain is it?”

“Dying pains,” Mats explained meekly.

Benedikt eased the napkin upwards to Mats’ hairline. “Those are the worst. Look, I’m sorry for screaming at you and for what I said. It isn’t your fault that you’re dying.”

“It isn’t your fault either. You’re too hard on yourself, Benedikt. You’re a good person.”

Benedikt nodded. He held Mats’ feverish, weak body closer to his own and wondered how much longer the heat would sustain for.

 

* * *

 

A day at about the end of the second week was when Mats stopped eating. He also stopped talking. Benedikt wished he had kept track of the last conversation he and Mats had held, maybe the last ‘I love you’. But unfortunately, that wasn’t how life worked. The way life worked was that you didn’t get an advanced warning as to when your dying boyfriend was going to utter his last words. Things like that happen so gradually that you don’t notice they’ve happened until they’ve already happened.

It did happen, however, that Mats could still cough and puke. The puking and the not-eating went hand in hand; he ate and puked, and then the eating stopped, followed by the puking.

 _This might be the last puke of Mats’ I ever have to clean up,_ Benedikt thought dully as he did just that. He would’ve been an expert cleaner-upper if they’d ever had the chance to raise kids.

After the last paper towel was tied up and tossed out, Mats started coughing. Benedikt held a tissue to his mouth and wiped around the sticky perimeter of his lips once he finished coughing. Then he wiped off Mats’ runny nose with a clean tissue, after which he went into the bathroom to blow the crap out of his own nose and tried to avoid breaking down as a result of witnessing Mats declining into this state of helplessness.

Even though Mats no longer had the strength to communicate, Benedikt knew he was embarrassed and frustrated.

 

* * *

 

Benedikt lost track of time soon after that, but he was pretty sure it was sometime during week three that he put Mats into his wheelchair and took him outside for a walk.

It was warm. The sun was shining and melted onto his skin. It felt good to be outside after being cramped up inside that stuffy, depressing house with all the damn Christmas lights.

Mats had a breathing tube installed now. He couldn’t breathe very well on his own, nor could he sit up. Benedikt had placed pillows all around the chair so Mats wouldn’t have to support himself. Still, his neck was resting at an odd angle.

Benedikt talked to Mats continually even though Mats couldn’t respond because he knew that Mats could still hear him. Maybe not _listen_ , but he could definitely hear.

“It’s nice outside, isn’t it? I hope you like it, it’s the least I can do right now.”

“Mats, I tried to make these three weeks good for you and I’m sorry that I failed. But I tried.”

“Thank you for being such an amazing person. I never deserved you.”

“I was just thinking about how everyone with cancer has to be strong. I mean, what would’ve happened if I had had cancer instead of you? I’m not strong.”

 _YES YOU ARE!_  Mats wanted to yell at him. _You have to be strong to lose someone you love to cancer, too._

But Mats couldn’t yell. The last thing he was losing was his consciousness, and he was slowly beginning to tune out Benni’s ramblings. He sort of wanted Benni to stop because he sounded so sad and it was making him sad in turn, but did he really have the energy to feel sad anymore? He couldn’t do anything anymore except wait to die.

A teenage boy, maybe 17 or 18, was standing on the sidewalk and watching them as they approached very slowly.

“He can’t respond, but you can talk to him and he’ll hear you,” Benedikt said dutifully.

The boy went on to reveal that he was an avid Dortmund fan and a huge fan of Mats’ and that Germany would win the World Cup this year just for Mats. Then he said his aunt had cancer too and that Mats was an inspiration.

Benedikt nodded, ready to continue the walk before the boy asked a question. “He’ll be okay, right?”

“Yes,” Benedikt replied. “The cancer is almost gone.”

 

* * *

 

**_~Cancer never wins because even if you die, the cancer dies with you~_ **

As with the talking, the dying happened so gradually that Benedikt almost didn’t notice it slipping in. He was numb by that point anyway. He didn’t know half of what was happening. All he knew was that there was a nurse at the house and some other people too, and he was holding Mats’ hand which was freezing cold, and that Benedikt didn’t know that Mats had died until the nurse told him gently, “That’s it.”

He let go of Mats’ hand and looked at him. He didn’t look dead. He just looked like Mats. Benedikt refused to believe it.

Then some other people whom Benedikt didn’t know or care about came by and took Mats away from him.

 

* * *

 

Hundreds of white balloons dotted the sky. The sky was wickedly identical to the one under which Benedikt had taken Mats on that walk just the other day. Each balloon contained a tag that read, ‘In loving memory of Mats Julian Hummels: friend, brother, and son’ and then an e-mail address where condolences could be sent.

Benedikt nearly jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. And then he was running his mouth, not even caring who he was talking to: “You know, I don’t really believe in all that stuff. That he’s up there and watching us, I mean.”

Sven looked up, as if he were trying to locate evidence to prove his national teammate wrong. Then he shrugged and changed the subject. “Are you alright?” _Well, considering._

“I’ve been better.”

“Let us know if you ever need anything, okay?”

“I will.”

Benedikt squinted to keep track of his balloon before it disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope by writing this that I did not offend anyone. I know it's a sensitive topic which is why I put the warning in the summary. I think cancer is something that all of us have been touched by, whether it's in your community or someone you know personally, and I think it's amazing how people can find positivity and bravery even when terrible things happen.
> 
> Anyway, I hope this was worth reading and if you have time, please consider leaving a comment :)


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